tongue-tied
by redphlox
Summary: Sex on the first date is a sin Maka vowed never to commit. But there is always an exception when Soul is involved. [nsfw: smut]


Sex on the first date is a sin she vowed never to commit.

Maka can't think straight, though, while her best friend's mouth trails below her belly button.

She blames Soul for her lapse in judgement. Years of close friendship led to a messy buildup of dangerous feelings, all of which Maka had sworn to conceal until _he_ broke first, fessing up to a longstanding, debilitating crush amidst a heated argument about a book of hers he may have lost. Stunned silence on her part forced him to run away, stammering apologies about ruining the best thing that's ever happened to him and begging her not to chop him. Maka had ended the short chase down the street by tackling a blushing Soul to the ground as he fumbled through proposing a date. Teary laughter and a soft punch to his bicep had been the only way Maka could respond. _Of course_ she'd go to dinner and a movie with him - it wouldn't be anything different than what they had been doing.

Except, she thought, it would guarantee a _kiss_.

And since then, she hasn't been able to think about anything but Soul and his _mouth_.

It's the same one that murmurs sweet nothings into her hair during moments of fragility that have her clinging to his shirt for dear life. Even when they're red-faced and irritated at critical levels with one another, his mouth fascinates. He's both sharp and sweet, which is why he's the first to cave after they blow a fuse arguing, offering apologetic cheek pecks. There is something comforting about stubble lightly scratching her face as he goes on to dot kisses along the bridge of her nose and eyebrow arches. She's the only one he'd come this close to, and he's the only one she'd accept this brand of comfort from.

The gentleness of his presence has softened her into magma. She's delicate. Desperation liquefies her bones when she thinks of Soul Evans; so today, when she opens a text thread that says he's climbing eight flights of stairs to pick her up at the door for their first date, it does something to her.

She snaps; she reels him inside the apartment by the collar when he knocks, their teeth clashing in her haste to close the gap between them.

Confusion stuns him for a second but he's quickly revived by breathy reassurances and frantic pleading to unzip her dress. They topple down on her neatly made-up bed after stumbling around the furnishings in the cramped apartment, Maka's fingers hooked possessively through his belt loops, her mouth thawing whatever walls he may still have up with rough kisses. He trembles the moment they collide and doesn't stop. Unsteady hands cup her face, his touch leaving burns that ache long after they've moved on to ghost down her sides, waist, and back, aimless and hungry.

Soon she's on her back before she knows it, Soul looking at her hesitantly. Tenderly.

She can't think straight. One of her last coherent thoughts is that Soul wants to get her _there_ first.

"My dress needs to come off," she reminds him lowly – begs, _allows_. She has no qualms about letting him unhook, unzip, and undo her. The cold air touching her bare skin, her head spinning from the suddenness of it all.

The view of the ceiling is different from underneath Soul. The paint's imperfections aren't as noticeable in the daylight as they are at three in the morning when she's staring into the darkness, pretending the fingers at her slit are Soul's tongue. 'Friction' is the only word that pops into Maka's mind to describe the heat blossoming between them as Soul settles on a rhythm. Grinding hurts a little – it emphasizes the need to be joined at the hip bones, to finally _physically_ feel the warmth of his soul in person instead of at night through the phone, when sleep deprivation makes things easier to say.

Kisses to her face are replaced with brief kisses down her belly until he's kneeling on the floor and she's spreading her knees, heart pounding in her ears.

Silk and all its soft glory is second best only to his touch, so she indulges in their intimacy a little too much and trusts that he'll be with her forever, like skin. And then she starts to think about _his_ skin and the vulnerability of nakedness and how she feels safe with nothing on because _he's_ the one between her knees, worshiping her like she's holy. Then she thinks too much about the prospect of her bed creaking to a rhythm they'll create together, how it'll slowly slide the sheets off onto floor. Soon she stops thinking altogether, succumbing to the lightest of kisses to her slit.

" _Soul_ ," she gasps, arching her back, fingernails digging into the pillow as if to ground her, to keep her from floating away.

"Hmm?" His hum is full of sin. The low rumble of his voice has the same effect as his lips - she's reduced to nothing but magma. He looks at her through shaggy bangs, playing innocent even though the determination to drive her over the edge is apparent.

She licks her lips and wills herself to ask for what she wants. "Do that again."

And he does. Except this time with his tongue, unhurriedly. She can't _think_ straight.

Soul grins into the sensitive flesh right above her core, triumphant, and if the heat radiating from his face is telling, blushing madly. "Was that good?"

"Yes that was good, do it again," she half-laughs, half-begs. There is no doubt in her mind that he's bent on drawing this out for as long as humanly possible. Part of her wants to thank him for proving heaven is real, while the other more primal part is two seconds away from grabbing the back of his head and shoving it where it belongs. The downside of always knowing what she wants means a lack of patience – and this is without a doubt a moment she doesn't want to end, even if it's a special, delightful brand of torture.

"So demanding," Soul says, lips magnetized to her inner thigh, right where it meets her pelvis. Teeth shyly worry the skin there. Maka sinks into the mattress, breathing out the last bit of her sanity. She's not used to following his lead. Aside from granting him control of their transportation because it means she gets to flatten her cheek against his back and wrap her arms around his waist while he maneuvers a vibrating motorcycle, their roles are usually reversed. She's used to taking charge. Except for her eager consent, it's clear she has no say in how, where, or when his tongue graces her sensitivity.

The thought itself worsens the ache, like a burn that intensifies the longer it's left unattended.

Her best friend decides to wander closer to her center, alternating between pecks, open-mouthed kisses, and hesitant bites. Maka is a mess, trembling, chest rising and falling sharply as she heaves, tongue-tied. Concerned crimson meets her heavy-lidded gaze, carnal want mellowed out. "You okay? Am I doing something wrong?"

"No," she practically shouts, reaching out for him as he edges away.

Panic is contagious. Soul is super adorable when he's worried about her comfort, even if it's misplaced. "'No' you're not okay?"

"'No' you're not doing anything wrong," she reassures, beckoning him closer. But he's a statue, paralyzed by distressed overthinking.

"We could start over again. Uh… we went kinda fast? We… could slow down," he offers, raising a brow, lips that are supposed to be on her clit pursing. Poignant disappointment closes her throat until he climbs on the bed and crawls over her, fingers in her hair as he slants his mouth over hers.

 _Oh_.

"Okay," she agrees when he breaks away, forehead resting on hers. A shy smile is her response to his relieved sigh. White lashes flutter a few times before he leans in again. Butterflies tickle her tummy and she feels like a lovesick dork for reveling in the spark of electricity that rolls down her spine. Hands that were so confidently sliding off her panties only a few minutes earlier are now cautiously moving down her neck, thumbs rubbing circles into her throat. She drapes her arms around his neck, melting.

Slowing down is the best decision they've made together, save for blurring the fine line between platonic and romantic love by taking a chance on dating, and even that was explosive. Everything they do tends to be lively and fast-paced, so this is a welcomed change. She can think again, though it's hazy, concentrated with want and affection as he roams the valleys of her collarbones and shoulders. The realization that he's planning to map out her entire body, adorning each inch with tender strokes, dawns on her, slow like honey and just as sweet.

"You're so soft," he murmurs, outlining the dip between her collar bones with a lazy fingertip.

Suddenly she feels the unfairness of being naked while he's still covered by jeans and a grey t-shirt. They're equal partners and it's not right that he's fully clothed. She abandons playing with his hair to scrape her nails down his back, delighted that he trembles so easily at her touch but unhappy that his lips stop moving and his ministrations pause. "Shit, I'm such a loser," he bemoans, the last syllables clipped by a gasp as she slips a palm underneath the hem of his shirt.

He collapses on her, pinning her to the comforter with a groan. He's the only kind of heaviness that she welcomes – warm, loving, gentle.

"Yeah, but you're my loser," she laughs, exploring the skin she can't see. As rough and standoffish Soul can be when he's having a bad day, he feels unbelievingly _good_ , soft. She wonders what it would be like to get rid of his clothes so there's nothing between them. Muscles twitch underneath her wandering hands, his face buried in the crook of her neck, relaxed by her hands.

A surge of fondness leaves her tongue-tied, teary-eyed, and fragile. Maka is the curious sort, never satisfied. She wants to know him inside and out. There is no better way to be familiar with someone than to see them naked. Secretly, she fears she'll never know him _enough_ , fuming that there are parts of Soul that she'll never be able to reach, but she's nothing if not determined. She'll never stop getting to know Soul, and that's a lifelong challenge she's willing to sign up for.

And they're obviously resonating, because his hands liven, rubbing her sides, looking at her sheepishly. "I wanna touch you more," he says. "With my mouth."

It's not exactly graceful, but she can only ignore her needs for so long. In a way, she's selfish – sure, she wants to learn what Soul likes, what unravels him in the dirtiest of ways, but she's also been dreaming about his mouth on her pussy for an embarrassing amount of time. The fact that he's been fantasizing about the same thing makes her moan desperately, hyper aware of the fact that he's staring at her like he's admiring art. He's flushed clear down his collar and she balls her hands into a fist to keep from chasing it down his shirt. She _still_ has to wait her turn, but it's not like that's a catastrophe.

"Lead," she says, gasping when he suckles on her neck. A distant worry that she's guaranteed to sport a hickey dissolves immediately as she gives in to his glorious, clumsy, but eager teeth. He's quick to multi-task, palming her breast lightly, humming joyously. Her brain is mush. Behind her eyelids an array of vivid colors flourish in sync with his open-mouthed kisses down her sternum. She focuses on the ceiling fan lazily whirl so the sight itself doesn't get her off, which leaves her unprepared for when he covers her breast with his mouth.

She's drowning and she doesn't want to be saved. Breathing isn't a priority anymore, nor is keeping quiet. It's the middle of the day and the walls are thinner than paper. The neighbors will have to file a complaint to the management for the disturbance because there is no way she can censor her mewls of approval. A lifetime of constant stressing over her barely B cup assets are instantly reversed – not that Soul flicking at her nipple with his tongue undoes any of her self-image problems, but the fact that he's giving them undivided attention makes her feel like a queen.

"They're." Kiss. "The." Suck. "Perfect." Nibble. "Size."

It's instinct to tap the side of his head. "Don't play, Soul," she pouts, the edges of her lips twitching upwards when he gives the left one a good, long suck, eyes never leaving her face.

And then he's gone. An indignant cry bubbles out of her until he's attached to her again, this time leaving a smoldering trail down the expanse of her stomach. Teeth leisurely scrape at the skin bordering her belly button, tongue dipping into the hollow like a preview of what's to happen next. She can't _see_ straight. Dazedly, she can make out daring red studying her reaction. He's a statue again, stuck, waiting for her to say 'go'. The feat of articulating words too much, she nods quickly, giving consent for him to continue.

"Breathe," he says easily, voice so low and soft it rumbles in her chest. "Relax."

"I'll breathe when I want to," she teases despite her lightheadedness. Such bravado is ephemeral, much like the blissful, smooth flame that laps right where she's been craving, drawing out a silent prayer from her bitten lips. To say that she loves him a sliver more for making her toes curl briefly makes her feel like a dirty sinner, but she'll be damned if any negativity marrs the sanctity of his skills.

Keeping her eyes open and surrendering to the ecstasy that overwhelms in hesitant, curious surges is tempting. It's almost an out of body experience, Soul's hands caressing her thighs, giving her bottom a squeeze right before he glides over the sublime spot that has her chanting his name. Fits of overjoyed surprise have her sliding up the bed until she bangs against the headboard. Bold hands grasp her by the ankles to pull her back, and she's ashamed to say that his confidence only drives her further into elated madness.

Rhythm is not lost on Soul, who learns that Maka likes to be toyed with in the best way. Alternating between hard, deliberate licks and adoring pecks is his game, one that he punctuates by feeling up her belly and filling the space between her fingers with his. If his kink involves hand-holding while she claws at her floral-patterned sheets when she's not yanking at his hair, then she wants to take him to the altar _right now_. Mesmerized whispers like "you're so beautiful" and "I love you I love you" fuel the coil tightening in her lower abdomen. Occasional grunts that sound a lot like "fuck you feel good" intensify the animalistic lust that spasms and throbs wherever his mouth meets her flesh.

She can't see straight, but that doesn't deter her from propping up on an elbow to watch him work. Brows knit together with the effort of undivided focus, Soul is the most studious he's ever been, and any prior disappointment and frustration she's felt about his lack of academic ambition dissolves into praise. The way he delicately brushes against her clit - just enough contact to jolt her, just enough contact to prolong the pleasure - should be declared one of the world's wonders. It's clear that Soul isn't the slacker he strives to be, although he _is_ as devious as his smirks convey, proven by the way powdery lashes flutter as he winks.

And that's her hint that she's going to lose it.

Irrationally hoping to hold on, she rolls her lips between her teeth and refuses to breathe. Not that she can control this bodily function, but doing so does falsely give her the idea that she can stay in heaven. But Soul's determination rivals hers. This is the first time since they've known each other that he beats her at something - and she _likes_ it. There is a glint of defiance in his eyes that makes her heart skip several beats, a short-lived hiatus where his tongue _stops_ and betrayal fills her to the brim. How _dare_ he not get her off! But then he's back at it, and she snaps, quivering, his name an exultant hum.

Blood pounds in her ears when she comes down from the high, the afterglow equally as gratifying. Her vision focuses, a mass of unruly platinum hair the result of her mad grappling. A blush that feels like a sunburn glazes her cheeks. It coats her body like paint, Soul reaching to stroke her belly button fondly. Peppering fleeting kisses to the inside of her thigh, he wears a timid smile as he shifts, hesitantly climbing back on the bed, bringing her close to peck her forehead.

"Are you okay? Are you breathing?" he sighs into her hair, smoothing it out of her face. She tries to grab his wrists but is too weak, settling on just patting his arms.

"I'm good, good," is all she can respond. Her brain is seared. "Can't believe that just happened."

Her best friend just gave her head. _Amazing_ head. A+ head. All because the pair hadn't even made it out of the apartment for their first date. The coral dress she had torn clothing racks apart in search of like a possessed she-devil lays forgotten on the carpet, wrinkled. And Soul is still fully clothed, converse still on his feet. Hardness that she somehow missed before presses awkwardly on her thigh as he swoops her into a hug. Something like nervous guilt gnaws away at the last lingering feel-good vibes.

But she's not one to give up. Despite the sudden awkwardness that threatens to paralyze her, she still has her eyes on the prize: get him off.

"Uhm," she says, hands already roaming down his sides. "Want me to use my mouth? I mean, it's your turn."

He stiffens for a second, then holds her at shoulder length, eyes dark and murky with fervor. "Oh… _oh._ Yeah, fuck yeah."

A jumpy giggle is all she can manage. Nothing makes her feel more broken than the disquieting, abrupt awareness that she's not ready to reciprocate. Her stomach drops like she's been pushed off a cliff. She believes in fairness - after all, Soul took her to the edge of the galaxy and back, and she's entertained many daydreams about all the faces he'd make coming because of _her._ Doing the same for him would be just. Except the implications of taking his dick in her mouth strikes fear instead of lights her libido.

Maybe it's because she'd been a virgin in all senses of the word until a few moments ago. She's new to all of this and - and, and, and, and, he's her _best friend_. The integrity of their relationship now depends on how well they navigate a romantic venture. Maka Albarn does not take the likelihood of failure well. Rejection is far worse than any physical pain. She can't lose _Soul_ , her rock, her armor.

And she can't use her mouth on him.

Sex implies so many things and she can't reciprocate, can't deal with the storm in her chest.

Pushing him away and bounding off the bed to scoop up her dress, she holds her hands out to him like a shield. Not even needles pierce more than the hurt flashing across his face. "I don't think I can do this and I have to go-"

He moves toward her. "I'm sorry if I did something wrong, or seemed pushy-"

"No, no, no, no," she squeaks. Tripping over her own two feet as she stumbles toward the door is new. She's never been this clumsy before in her life. But then again, she's never jumped into bed with anyone before either, or at all. Until today. There are firsts times for everything. "It's nothing you did. You were perfect. Thanks!"

Perplexed horror makes his brows furrow. "Uhm… you're welcome?" Then he shakes his head, sighing, rubbing his face before peeking between the cracks of his fingers. "Look, I'm so sorry. I don't know what I did but I want to know-"

Humiliation numbs her basic ability to control her limbs. She's thrashing about in the tent that is her dress for what seems like centuries, listening to his stammering about how she's welcomed to drop kick him if he disrespected her. Maybe they're not speaking the same language anymore, because none of her shouts of "it's not you!" are understood.

Silence replaces the chaos spun by their voices. She's tired, on the brink of tears because her dress was so _easy_ to take off and _it's so hard to put back on, dammit_. It's when she stops struggling that he speaks again: "Is it okay if I help you put your dress back on?"

She nods, then murmurs her agreement resignedly, realizing that he can't see her beneath the fabric.

Gentle fingertips adjust the dress enough that she can poke her arms through the right holes. They tug the dress downward, her head popping through, and she catches a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror: sex hair is her current style. She blushes, not meeting his eyes. She figures that looking to the side would be safer. Glancing down when he's in front of her could mean catching a glimpse of a different kind of tent -

"I have to go," she breathes, backing away.

"Maka, this is your place, remember?"

She's already crashing through the apartment: "I have to go!"

X

She barges across the threshold into his apartment without greeting nor reluctance. "Take your clothes off!"

Watching him rub the sleepiness from his eyes deepens her resolve to get him off. He's so innocent, standing in the light barely making it down the hallway from the kitchen. She allows him space and time to wake up properly. She has all the time in the world.

Phantom fingers had traced her collar bones at the thought of him. He had touched her _everywhere_ , and it's not like he's

It'd been more than nice. It'd been special.

Hours had gone by since the incident, and when she was finally tired and retreated to her apartment, he'd been gone, gone. And she had missed his sleepy laugh and his tongue, his presence. She's sinful, thoughts about his where his happy trail leads and what fullness would feel like fogging her mind, but she's not answering any of his calls or texts, instead searching for a cure to her uneasiness. The internet hadn't provided any answers - why does she want his dick inside her, but not inside her mouth? Sex is sex. It should be simple.

Lounging in the same bed that Soul got her off in had done nothing but intensify the confusion. Filthy daydreams of all the positions she'd want to try with him, and only him, had played over and over and over and _over_ again. She had turned into a lump on her bed sheets, the same ones she still wants to rock to the floor in her hurry to nail him to the mattress.

And she's not good at staying still, or staying away from him. So she's here now, tonight, grabbing the bull by the horns, ready to face her fears.

But she needs consent first.

"Huh?" Soul grouses, nudging the door shut with his heel.

She clears her throat. "I didn't mean to reject you earlier. Take your clothes off!"

He's not fazed by her assertiveness. Yawning, he points at his chest. "My shirt's already off, if you haven't noticed…"

Her whole body feels like a fire. _No,_ she hadn't noticed - mostly because she'd been ravaging his face adoringly, partly because she's still reeling from earlier, from being daunted by the bulge in his pants - but she's giving him a once over now and _how hadn't she noticed_? Sure, they've gone on vacations together many times, lazing in the sun and chasing one another on sandy beaches. She's no stranger to bare-chested Soul, whose jagged hipbones are ungodly, who's been the subject of envy on her part for the defined abs he's never worked for. He's naturally attractive.

Now's not the time to resent him for it, though.

She's here to repay his worship in full.

"Okay then," she allows, adjusting her skirt, self-conscious. Though she had thrown on a cardigan to cover the white spaghetti straps that do nothing to hide her braless form, she can't help but feel naked, like he can see through her clothes. His gaze is dark with sleep and lust - it seems like he's following the situation's meaning.

"Okay," he says. Playing hard to get isn't his style. No, this is him testing the waters, making sure she's serious, giving her a chance to rethink her choices. And she hates it. She wants to get it over with.

She snaps her fingers. "Off, then."

Soul grins, wide awake, red eyes glinting. "Don't you wanna come over here to help?"

"Of course I do," she snaps, stomping over, mismatched combat boots probably leaving indentations on the hardwood floor he works so hard to keep neat. One wonderful quality of his is that he's clean, and she hopes it translates to his privates.

Soul crumbles into laughter when she drops to her knees, fingers fumbling with the strings of his waistband.

She hopes her glare scares him. "What?"

"You're ridiculous," he muses, grabbing her wrists lightly, "you know that right?"

"I _know_ that already," she grumbles, refusing to be distracted. Apprehension swells in her stomach, but she grits her teeth and finds the strength to go through with her plan - it won't be so bad, maybe.

"Really Maka, you don't have to do this." He drops down to the floor next to her, and she hisses, which only amplifies his dimpled grin. Hands cup her face. "You don't have to," he repeats.

She sighs, blushing, anger boiling inside her, frustration bringing tears. "I feel bad because you got me off and then I told you I would do the same for you but then I thought about it and I don't think I'm ready! I haven't really read any books about what to do - okay, I read lots of romance novels but Liz told me those aren't accurate, and I have a sensitive gag reflex, okay? And I've always been told that come tastes bad and I don't want to hurt your feelings! I'm scared! It was our first date and we were supposed to eat dinner together - and if you say that you ate really good I swear I will chop you, Soul. Everything was going really fast and I was scared. I love you so much and I don't want to disappoint you - I do want to try more stuff with you, just not that, I - I don't know!"

Hyperventilating, she locks her lips with his, squeezing her eyes shut. She might as well have one last kiss before they fight, because if he laughs at her rant or can't accept her feelings, punches will roll. Soul Evans is her sweetheart, though. He deepens the kiss until they have to splinter apart, both heaving.

He's pink, tousle-haired, and beaming. "Good. To everything you just said."

She blinks. "So you're okay?"

"I mean, my ego is bruised, but I'm glad you said all that… I don't mind giving and not receiving, you know." And then his face lights up, a wicked grin igniting a fire low in her belly. "What was that about trying other stuff?"

Palms poised on his shoulders, she climbs onto his lap. She has the best best friend slash boyfriend. "Want me to show you?"

He winks. "You lead."


End file.
